


soaked in pain

by mrspotatohead



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Abuse, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, Based on a Twenty One Pilots Song, Boys Kissing, Child Abuse, Comfort/Angst, Depression, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, LMAO, M/M, Physical Abuse, Romantic Friendship, Sad, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Slurs, Verbal Abuse, idk why i wrote this im just sad m8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-18 23:09:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8179267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrspotatohead/pseuds/mrspotatohead
Summary: tyler's dad gets really mad sometimes and josh just wants to help his friend.(abuse and self harm trigger warning, don't read if easily triggered.)





	

Tyler Joseph knew he was probably the only sixteen year old boy in the world that liked being at school more than he liked being at home.

Sure, the food sucked and the lessons dragged and most of the people were assholes, but he got to see his friends, and it was safe. At school, he didn't need to feel on edge. At school, he could just _be._ He had this little routine of eating lunch with his best friend Josh, way out beneath the gnarled old tree behind the school, and for one magical hour it would be just the two of them - laughing and gossiping and jokingly singing together. Josh always said Tyler's voice was like honey and the softest cloud in the summer sky.

Tyler would always roll his eyes and shake his head in disagreement, but the compliment always made the edges of his cheeks turn red.

He thought about how he'd give anything to go back to being at lunch with Josh as he arrived back from school to his small, dingy house on a cloudy Monday afternoon. The garden was overgrown with weeds and dying plants, and the tree house in the back garden was coming apart at the seams - a dying fossil from childhood days long since past. The sight of it made Tyler's chest feel like it was filled with stones and broken glass.

With a heavy sigh, he approached the front door and quietly opened it, trying hard not to make any sort of noise. The scent of day old vodka and bitter cider assaulted his nostrils immediately, before he'd even set foot inside, and he felt fear curl instantly in the back of his throat. He silently prayed that his dad would be passed out or too drunk to notice him slipping upstairs, but he knew the chances of that were slim, pretty much non existent.

Reluctantly, he headed into the living room, grimacing at all the empty takeaway boxes and congealing food on the coffee table, trying not to gag at the putrid smell.  He frowned slightly when he realized that his dad wasn't in the kitchen, or the downstairs bathroom, and it made all the hairs on his neck stand on end. Not knowing where his dad was made him feel like he was prey being stalked by its predator - and in many ways, he was.

The floorboards upstairs groaned and Tyler jumped instinctively, glancing upwards. He heard the creak of a door and then footsteps staggering down the stairs, so fast he was amazed that his dad didn't break his neck on the way down. Tyler got the sense that his dad had been waiting upstairs for him to get back from school, biding his time. He walked back into the living room, bracing himself for the confrontation that would surely come, his fists clenched anxiously by his side.

"There you are, you're fucking late," his dad's words slurred together but the anger laced in them was unmistakable. Tyler frowned, looking down at his watch, seeing that it was only 3:45. He struggled internally, wondering what he should say, how he was supposed to react. Talking to his dad felt like navigating a landmine, sometimes.

"It's - It's only 3:45," he said, swallowing nervously. He knew as soon as the words passed his lips that it'd been a fatal mistake, and he watched in horror as his dad clenched his jaw, swaying on his feet. The words danced in the air between them mockingly, only accentuating how insolent they sounded.

"You think I don't know that?" his dad barked, suddenly yelling, his voice reverberating off the blank white walls. "If I say you're late, then you're fucking late, do you _understand_ me!?"

"I know, I'm sorry," Tyler replied quietly, trying not to say anything else stupid, trying not to fuel the fire. He couldn't look at the man before him, couldn't meet his eyes, the fear was too great - it was like an immense black fog inside of him, snaking it's way up his spine, invading his brain. He was paralyzed.

"Sorry," his dad snarled, lurching forwards drunkenly, "is not good enough, and you know it."

Tyler stepped backwards, trying to avoid his dad's grip, almost tripping on an empty beer can while his heart pounded in his ears. He could feel the glare of the older man on him, he could feel the pure outrage radiating off of him, and he panicked internally, wishing he could just run past him and up to his room. But he couldn't, he knew he couldn't. He had to be dismissed. Walking away from his dad was a death wish, it was practically suicide.

"Can I go to my room?" The question was out of his mouth before he had really thought about it, and the room filled with a very deliberate silence. The kind of silence that felt louder than being in a room full of people. Tyler risked a glance up at his dad, noticing how pale he was, how his eyes were red, how they had bags underneath them that looked like they'd never go away. He was just staring, his forehead pulsing, his hand clenched around his drink. He looked so weak. 

"I want you back down here for six o clock so you can make dinner," came the mumbled reply, and Tyler felt a flash of relief - he could hardly believe his luck. He left the room quickly and quietly just as his father collapsed onto the couch, groaning and muttering under his breath. For once, his dad being drunk had worked in his favor.

He felt like he'd just escaped certain death, he had been so sure that the conversation would've ended up with him bleeding out on the carpeted floor, but it hadn't, and it was glorious. He bounded into his room and sat on his bed, with his back against the blue, peeling wall, enjoying the temporary safety he'd been granted. He looked up and his eyes fell on the framed picture of his mother he kept on his bedside table, and his heart gave a painful jolt. He hadn't really looked at it in a while, and he felt bad about it. He didn't want to forget her.

He picked up the photo and smiled down fondly at it, trying to remember her as she'd been when she was alive. He took in her styled blonde hair, her soft and kind smile, her tanned and even skin. He thought about all of those afternoons spent with her when he was much younger, just out of nappies, when she would bake him double chocolate chip cookies and let him sit on her lap so she could sing to him. She made everything okay - his dad was never stressed or angry or drunk when she was around, he'd been practically teetotal, and never once violent.  Tyler tiredly closed his eyes and tried to conjure her up in his mind, but it was like looking at someone through faulty lenses. All of her edges were blurred, all of her minute details were missing.

He remembered the day he'd come home from school when he was just nine years old, to find two officers sitting in his living room looking grave and serious, talking to his dad, who was crying into his hands. He remembered the queasy feeling he'd gotten in his stomach when he'd heard the words _car crash_ and _fatal_ and _identify the body._ He was nine, but he wasn't stupid. He went out into his tree house and cried and cried and cried until it felt like all of the tears in the world had been shed by him.

The grief he'd felt that day never went away, it was always there, like a gaping hole inside of him. Sometimes it niggled uncomfortably at the back of his brain, sometimes it consumed him entirely, and sometimes it was only fully present in that limbo between being asleep and being awake. It felt like thunderstorms and lightning inside of his body, preventing him from getting any rest at all. But no matter what, it was always there, and it was a part of him.

After a while, he put the photo down because if he looked at it any longer he knew he would cry, or his thoughts would turn completely black and he'd do something much worse than crying, and he'd been clean from hurting himself for five weeks and three days exactly, and he didn't want to relapse. He didn't want to be weak anymore, even though he knew that he was. He just knew.

He lay down on his bed and pulled out his phone, surprised to see he had a message, but not surprised to see it was from Josh. Tyler couldn't help the flicker of warmth that spread through him when he saw his friend's name flash onto the screen. 

 

Josh: _hey my mom's out, you want to come over? we can chill n smoke some green :)_

 

Tyler stared down at the text, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He glanced at the time and sighed in disappointment; it was already 5:30, he needed to make dinner soon and there was no way his dad would let him go out. He wanted more than anything to go over to Josh's house. He wanted to get high with him in his comfortable, spacious bedroom where they would laugh until they couldn't breathe and have some of his mom's delicious leftover lasagna that she always had in the fridge. They would listen to music and talk about the future and Tyler would, for once, forget about how dead and distant he felt all of the time.

 

Tyler: _sorry, man, i can't, not tonight. maybe another time though?_

 

He sighed in frustration and threw his phone down onto his pillow, trying to imagine Josh was with him here instead. He made that thought disappear almost as soon as it was formed, because he wanted to keep something like Josh - good, pure, _happy_ \- out of his disastrous home life. They'd been friends since Tyler was eleven and Josh was twelve, but Josh had never been to his house. When he asked about it, Tyler would always just shrug him off with an excuse or distract him with a lame joke, and it always worked.

His phone buzzed and he picked it up, looking at the new message through the cracked screen.

 

Josh: _alright, that's cool dude, just let me know when you wanna hang out_

 

Tyler closed the message and shut his eyes momentarily, taking three long deep breaths. He didn't want to be isolated, he didn't want to be alone. He didn't want to be away from Josh if he could help it, and he knew it was only a matter of time before his friend gave up on him - everyone did, but he didn't blame them. He'd given up on himself a long time ago, too.

After listening to a few songs through his headphones, the volume so loud it made his ears ring afterwards, he cautiously made his way downstairs to ask his dad what he should make for dinner. The tight feeling in his chest returned as he approached the living room, and he realized with a start that his hands had begun to shake. There was no telling what kind of state his father would be in.

"Dad?" he said quietly as he pushed the door open to find him lying on the sofa, his eyes glazed over and vacant as he watched TV. He didn't move, didn't make any indication that he'd even heard his son.

"Dad?" Tyler tried again, a little louder. This time his father heard him, and he sat up quickly, still clutching at a beer as he glared over at the younger boy, obviously pissed that his show had been interrupted.

"What?" he spat, rubbing a hand over his forehead like he was exhausted, before standing up slowly, clearly irritated.

"Um, what do you want for dinner?" Tyler asked. He wrung his hands together as he spoke.

"God, Tyler, I don't fucking care, just put some pizzas in the oven or something," he said, glowering. Tyler nodded quickly and went into the kitchen, trying not to flinch as he walked by his father, who sat back down and took another swig of his cider. He put the pizzas in the oven and set the table - only two places out of the four chairs that surrounded it.

He stayed in the kitchen while the food cooked, picking at his nails and chewing his bottom lip nervously. He didn't want to go back into the living room if he didn't have to. He didn't want to admit it, but he was too afraid to face his father again.

When the pizzas were done, he set them out on the plates and called for his dad, who stormed into the kitchen and sat down heavily, glaring at the food with distaste. Tyler felt his stomach clench as he watched his dad closely, immediately wondering what he'd done wrong and how he could fix it.

"The fuck is this?" His dad's voice went right through him, right down into his bones.

"It's - It's pizza, dad." he replied, setting down another cider next to his dad's meal.

"I don't fucking like pepperoni," his dad fixed him with a stare so hard, so filled with rage that Tyler almost started crying right there, in front of him. That would've been bad. That would've been fatal.

"Oh, um - sorry, I - " he stuttered apologetically. "You can have mine, it's just mushroom," he found his voice, pushing his plate towards his dad, who took it grudgingly and gave Tyler his own plate. They ate in a tense silence. The only sound was the clock ticking away above the sink, until his dad spoke up again. His words filled every corner of the room, demanding attention.

"So, Tyler," his voice sounded rough and gravelly, "I heard from Mrs. Jackson next door that you all got report cards today," he continued quietly. And then he fucking _smiled,_ and it was a grin full of so much maliciousness and so much resentment that something deep inside of Tyler broke completely. He'd forgotten all about the report cards. He'd shoved it down to the bottom of his bag at lunch time, far too focused on Josh to even care. He remembered with a bleak, deep dread that he'd gotten a C in math, and his breath hitched in his throat. The anxiety dripped into his stomach slowly, making it feel heavy and leaden and nauseous.

"Oh, yeah we, we did," he nodded casually, trying to play it cool, ignoring the way his palms had begun to sweat.

"So why did you not show it to me the moment you got through the fucking front door? Why am I not congratulating you on all of your fucking A's, why am I not glowing with pride at you instead of staring at the complete disappointment in front of me now? _Why_ , Tyler?" he ranted, his face growing red with the effort, spittle flying from his mouth in his haste. Tyler licked his lips, biting back the lump in his throat. He felt like he was trapped in a nightmare, and he was too terrified to even look up from his plate. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his dad take another drink.

"I - I'm sorry, dad - " but before he could finish his sentence his father had lunged across the table and grabbed him by the arm in a grip as tight as iron and steel, and he was dragging him out of the kitchen towards his school bag which was still in the hallway.

"Show it to me! Show it to me _now_!" he demanded. Tyler dropped to his knees and clumsily unzipped his bag, his hands shaking uncontrollably. He dug through all of his schoolwork, trying to keep his breathing under control. Finally he produced the report card and reluctantly gave it to his infuriated father.

He watched in utter silence as his dad's eyes scanned the grades, and then they stopped on the C, widening in disbelief and rage.

"You got a C?" he breathed out, sounding extremely strained, and Tyler knew that the anger that had been building within his father all day was about to make its devastating crescendo.

"We still have time to make up the grades before the end of the semester, dad, I promise I'll try harder - " he was cut off once again by a swift slap to the face, which echoed crudely in the otherwise silent hallway. He stood there, ignoring the sting just below his eye which had begun to water furiously, feeling stunned - he wasn't surprised that his father had hit him, just that it had happened so fast.

He looked up just in time to see his dad stepping towards him, his fist raised in a fist, and when it collided with the other side of his face Tyler fell to the floor hard, feeling the bruise already begin to blossom on his cheek. He lay there and bit back harsh sobs, trying not to fight back because that usually only made things worse. He felt his dad kick him in the ribs, over and over again, unrelenting, grunting and swearing under his breath.

"You're no son of mine, you're a complete disappointment, you idiotic little fag!" His dad screamed deliriously as he hit and punched. He never seemed to tire himself out. Tyler tasted blood in his mouth, recognized its metallic tang, and tried to block everything out. He almost hoped he would pass out, just so he wouldn't have to comprehend what was happening anymore, just so he'd be at peace.

"It's all your fault! It's all your fault she's dead! You killed your own mother!" His dad suddenly yelled, and Tyler felt his eyes widen as he lay curled up on the floor. A searing pain ripping through the deepest part of his chest. His dad stopped, glaring down in disgust at his son, out of breath and exhausted. He'd never talked about his wife to Tyler since she'd died, and it was obvious he was shocked by his own words. They both missed a beat, and then his dad slammed out of the house, without another word.

There was a small pool of blood on the floor next to Tyler's head, matted in his dark hair, and he stared down at it as he sat up gingerly. He knew he would have to clean it up before his father got back home. There was a loud ringing in his ears that wouldn't let up. Pain radiated from every single part of his body, and his vision swam dangerously before him. His ribs ached in protest every time he moved, and making his way up the stairs was pure agony. Salty tears tracked down his face and into the cut below his eye, making it sting even more. 

He finally reached his bed and collapsed down onto it, letting himself cry because he just couldn't hold it back anymore. The culmination of the physical pain and the debilitating sadness was too much for him to handle. All he knew was that his dad had probably been right about one thing: he'd killed his mother. She'd been in the car that day buying new clothes for _him._ He'd overheard his grandparents discussing it when he was twelve, and ever since then he'd known that what his father was doing to him was justified. He deserved it. He did.

He pulled himself up, wiping his eyes furiously as he made his way to the bathroom down the hall, moving so slowly that it took him a while just to reach it. He grabbed a towel and took off his shirt, realizing it was stuck to his body from the blood and the sweat. He looked down at the sink and then let his eyes wander to the mirror, where he stared at his reflection, transfixed.

One of his cheeks had blossomed into a dark, brooding purple bruise which still seemed to be growing, making it hard for him to even open his mouth. The other cheek had a small, bleeding cut just below the eye that was weeping painfully, making Tyler cringe at the sight. His thin, pale torso was the worst part. He could barely see any of his actual skin tone through the patchwork quilt of bruises - yellow, black, purple, blue, - it was like someone had sewn him together using different materials; it was disgusting. He made a noise in the back of his throat that was somewhere between a whine and a sob, even the simple task of breathing made pain shoot through his ribs. He vaguely wondered how he was going to explain the bruising to teachers and people at school, but he knew he'd think of something - he'd been doing it since he was nine.

He turned on the shower, eager to wipe away the excess blood, eager to wash off the day. He was enveloped by a quiet numbness as he stood under the warm water, one he was used to, one that occurred every time his father did something like this. He stared at the white tiled walls, feeling the blood beat in his head, feeling like that lunch time with Josh had been years ago, not just hours. The desperation in his chest was completely unbearable, it felt like it was _drowning_ him. He watched as the water turned red when it mingled with his blood, running down the plug hole like a river of pain.

When his eyes fell on the blade he kept tucked away behind the shampoo, his heart constricted in his chest.

 _I can't,_ he thought desperately, still staring at it, _I've been clean for weeks, I can't._

Then something echoed around his head, bouncing off of his skull, a voice that sounded like a mixture between his own and his father's.

 

_Disappointment._

 

He whimpered quietly.

 

_Fag._

 

Another sob.

 

_You killed your mother._

 

He picked up the blade and slashed it into his wrist five times without hesitation, bleeding out the sadness, bleeding out the pain. He looked down at his arm and closed his eyes, biting back even more tears. He was weak.

When he went to sleep that night, he was blessed with dreams of cotton candy and Josh's smile and lovely, melancholy music. His father was nowhere to be seen in his unconscious fantasies. He didn't even exist in them, and it was marvelous.

 

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By lunchtime the next day, Tyler felt like he'd spent a thousand years in hell. The side of his face that was bruised had swollen considerably over night, and his stomach hurt so much that he was afraid there was internal damage, though he didn't mention it to anyone. He was okay. He was.

He didn't have any classes with Josh, so when he made his way over to their tree at lunch time, he couldn't help the smile dancing on his lips when he saw his friend, who was already sitting beneath it. It was the first time he'd smiled all day - at least the first genuine smile.

"Hey," Tyler grinned when he reached him, before sitting down a little closer to the other boy than was actually necessary. The sun was beating down on them and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky, plus the leaves on the trees were just beginning to surrender to Autumn's wrath, making them look golden and crisp. There was a feeling of contentment in the air, a feeling of ease, and the sun was setting Josh's auburn hair on fire. It was beautiful.

"Hi, Ty," Josh laughed, though his face soon fell when he got a good look at his friend.

"What the fuck happened to you?" he asked immediately, his eyes unable to look away from the dark bruises that littered the other boy's face. Tyler shifted uncomfortably because lying to Josh felt horrible, it felt so _wrong_. But he knew it was a completely necessary thing, though he'd never had to do it about this before - usually his dad never hit him on the face, because he knew it would lead to awkward questions. Last night he'd obviously been too angry to think about the consequences of his actions.

"Agh, I had a run in with a door, wasn't looking where I was going, you know," he replied easily, only looking at Josh for a second before he looked away, out across to the school. There was a sudden silence, and Josh looked closely at Tyler, his brow furrowed, his gaze intense and serious. Tyler ignored it, continuing to look away determinedly, like the school building was the most interesting thing in the world.

"So, um anyways, have you had a good day?" he finally asked desperately when he couldn't stand the quietness between the two of them any longer. Josh waited a second more, just looking at him, like he was at a loss for words, before he nodded slightly.

"Oh, yeah, I had gym though which sucked..." he laughed again, though there was something about his voice that was different, it sounded hollower. Tyler felt the harsh tendrils of guilt bite at his stomach, but he ignored it and they pressed on with their lunchtime, enjoying the cool breeze and the freedom from class and each other's company in general. They were still Tyler and Josh, and they still had a good time, but Josh kept giving Tyler these _looks_ , like the whole world was crumbling to pieces around them.

When the bell for class rang, they both stood up with heavy sighs and Tyler stretched, not thinking, letting his hoodie ride up his stomach and then - oh. He yanked it back down just as he heard Josh exclaim in surprise and disgust, and his heart began to beat a million times faster. He seriously thought of just turning around and bolting, running all the way home, but he knew his dad would be there by now - _waiting_. Just like last night, just like every night since his mom had died.

"Tyler?" Josh asked quietly, his eyes wide, "Tyler, what was that?"

"What?" he responded, beginning to walk towards the school, "it was nothing."

Josh wrapped his arm around the other boys forearm, pulling him back to where they stood beneath the tree. He didn't miss the way Tyler flinched at his touch, didn't miss the fear in the younger boy's dark eyes.

"That wasn't nothing, Tyler, look -" Josh reached forward and pulled at the hem of Tyler's hoodie, so it was right up, exposing his entire torso and all of the injuries which had been hidden beneath the fabric. Tyler pulled away from him, feeling tears press against the back of his eyes, feeling himself begin to panic.

"Stop it! Leave it, okay!" he yelled savagely, spinning around to look at Josh, whose mouth was hanging open slightly. He looked like a deer caught in headlights, and he was so beautiful, and so _good_ , and everything that Tyler could never, ever be. 

"Tyler -," he began, only to be cut off before he could say anything worth listening to.

"No! Shut up, okay? Just - Just let it go. Look, you're going to be late for class, you should get to class," he rambled, trying once more to walk away, only to be dragged back to the spot beneath the tree - Josh was clearly never going to just forget about this, and that scared Tyler more than anything.

"Who was it?" Josh's voice was so full of venom, so strong and forceful that Tyler stopped for a second, looking back at him properly for the first time since his hoodie had ridden up. He didn't respond, he just stared, stared at the curl of Josh's lip and the way his nostrils were flared - he was so angry, it almost made Tyler want to back away. Almost.

"Please leave it," he spoke again, but this time any trace of defensiveness or rage in his tone had been replaced with utter shame. His voice cracked awkwardly as he talked, getting stuck on the lump in his throat. 

"I can't, you know I can't," Josh replied steadily, taking a few steps towards his friend, closing the large gap between them."Is it someone from our grade?" he asked, trying to be tactful.

Tyler felt his hands begin to shake, so he put them in his pockets.

"No," he said softly. Josh frowned in confusion, and Tyler could almost see the thought process behind his friend's copper eyes, he could see him putting two and two together, and his stomach plunged because now someone _knew,_ and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Your dad," Josh whispered, and Tyler suddenly snapped out of it and span around on his heel, beginning to walk away again. Josh didn't pull him back this time but he followed him instead, having to jog to keep up with his friend's fast pace. Inside, it felt like Tyler was being ripped to shreds as he realized the reality of what was happening, the seriousness of the situation. There was no way out of it - he was trapped in his own life. 

"Please don't tell anyone, alright? I'm handling it," Tyler's voice was completely monotone. He felt like someone had removed all of his organs with a shovel. Every step caused him pain, his ribs screamed, his torso ached, and his jaw hurt from talking, but he ignored it all. He told himself over and over again that he deserved it. That it was his comeuppance for what he'd done. That it was karma. 

"Handling it?" Josh muttered, raising his eyebrows, "That's what you call handling it?"

"You don't get it," the other boy said quietly, not slowing down, not looking anywhere but straight ahead.

"He's fucking hitting you Tyler, there's nothing to get!" Josh was almost yelling, almost shouting, but not quite. Tyler just walked onward, they were almost at the school, and they were both horribly late, but anything was better than this - anything was better than Josh finally seeing Tyler for what he actually was - a fuck up. A _weak_ fuck up.

He felt Josh's hand on his arm and flinched backwards only a second too late, so his bare arm slipped out from behind his sleeve, showing the deep red gashes that were still fresh and even bleeding slightly from the night before. They both stopped, the air buzzing with energy around them, the silence was practically torturous. Josh sucked in a harsh breath, feeling like he'd been punched in the stomach. Tyler stayed completely still, his face pale and pallid. It wasn't happening. It wasn't real. 

"Come on," Josh muttered weakly, turning in the other direction and walking away. Tyler frowned at the ground, not daring to look up at his friend. He wondered briefly if Josh had gone mad. He wondered what he was going to do when their friendship inevitably broke down because of him. 

"Where are you going?" he asked, so quietly that the wind nearly drowned him out. He almost wished it would.

" _We're_ going to my house, fuck school. You're going to explain everything to me. Everything, Tyler," Josh sounded so sure of himself that for once, Tyler didn't argue, and he didn't think about what his dad would say about him cutting class - he just followed.

 

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They reached Josh's house just as the sky started spitting with a sudden bout of rain. The Dun's lived in the nicer part of town - in a lovely three story house that was painted white. There was bright flowerbeds in the garden that never seemed to die. They even had a white picket fence. 

They were the only ones home since Josh's mom worked all day, and the family cat greeted them sleepily at the door. The safety of Josh's house always made Tyler feel sour with jealousy, and he resented himself for it. 

"We can go to my room," Josh said quietly, leading the way without looking back at his friend. Tyler nodded and followed silently, his nerves were completely frayed. When he reached the bedroom, Josh was already sitting on the bed with his back against the wall, which was painted red and littered with posters and drawings. Tyler joined him timidly, wondering if Josh was mad at him or not. He decided to just ask, because he was tired of guessing. He was tired of _thinking._

"Are you mad at me?" he tried to keep his voice steady, but it quivered slightly. His friend just looked over at him, and there was so much pain soaked in his eyes that it hurt to see.

"No, of course not, Ty," Josh was talking very slowly, like he was choosing his words carefully, "But _fuck_ , man, you have to tell me what's going on."

Tyler looked down at his knees, at his hands which were folded together in his lap. He looked up at Josh, licked his lips, and looked back down at his hands. He hadn't realized that it would be so hard. Words didn't seem important enough to explain how he felt, everything sounded like a giant understatement.

"If I tell you, promise you won't tell anyone?" he bargained desperately, trying to stall the inevitable, trying to get his mind to think straight again. 

"Promise," Josh nodded immediately, even linking his little finger with Tyler's. It made them both laugh weakly, despite the situation.

"Okay, well..." his voice trailed off, and died in his throat. He took a deep breath, feeling his cheeks flush. He didn't even know where to start. 

"It's okay, Ty," Josh whispered reassuringly.

"I guess it's my dad. He just - " Tyler frowned and looked down at his nails. " - get's mad sometimes. You know? Really mad."

"And he hits you?" Josh pressed, and even though he wasn't looking directly at him, Tyler could feel the instant anger radiating from the other boy, like a switch had been turned on inside of him.

"Yeah," he nodded, feeling the anxiety curdle in his stomach as he said it. "Sometimes."

"How often?"

Tyler clenched his jaw, not wanting to admit any of it. To Josh, or to himself. He couldn't believe he'd been so careless, he couldn't believe he'd let himself be caught. It was just another thing he'd failed at, and now Josh was looking at him like he was seeing a completely different person. He'd ruined everything, _again._

"Depends," he shrugged vaguely, squinting his eyes and looking away again. 

"On what?" Josh sounded incredulous.

"Whether he's been drinking, whether he's angry or not. Sometimes I've done something wrong, so he hits me, and then I don't do it again," Tyler explained, and it almost sounded like he was making sense, he almost made it sound sane. That was the thing that terrified Josh the most. 

"Something wrong? Like what?"

"Like - Like, I got a C in math. A fucking _C_ , dude. That's why I got this," Tyler gestured at the bruises on his face and around his torso. Josh stared at him, and the room was silent for a few minutes, because they were both too scared to say anything else. Josh was too afraid to ask any more questions because what he'd heard so far had been fucking horrific, and Tyler was afraid of _everything_ about telling Josh the whole truth. 

"A C isn't even a bad grade," Josh mumbled helplessly after a while, and then he put his hand in Tyler's and squeezed it. Tyler looked up in surprise, loving the feeling of holding hands, loving the sudden closeness. Josh's hand made him feel okay, and he hadn't felt like that in so long. He hadn't felt _stable_ in so long.

"And what about the - " Josh paused, apparently to collect himself, "- the cutting?"

"What about it?" Tyler muttered, biting his tongue as he looked down again. He was so fucking embarrassed - he could feel all of the blood running to his cheeks, he knew his face was on fire, but he couldn't help it. It was one thing Josh finding out about his dad, but it was something else that he'd found out about what he was doing to himself. It was completely fucking humiliating.

"Why do you do it, Tyler? Why would you fuck around with something like that?" There was a sternness in Josh's voice that Tyler had never heard before.

"It helps," he shrugged and pulled his knees into his chest, clinging onto Josh's hand a little tighter, like it was a lifeboat and he was drowning. 

"With what?"

"It just helps me deal, okay?" Tyler was making his lip bleed because of how much he was chewing it.

"Yeah, but with what?" Josh pushed eagerly, aware that he was finally getting somewhere, he was finally getting answers.

"With being me," he sighed, closing his eyes, "with dealing with what I've done."

"What have you done?" And Josh looked so genuinely confused that Tyler would've laughed in any other situation.

"Josh, you've been my friend for years, alright? You know what I'm like," Tyler laughed, but there was no humor in it. It was cold and mirthless and dead.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Josh asked indignantly, his brow furrowed. He was studying Tyler intensely like he'd done beneath the tree, his gaze was so hard that it was tough to look at. 

"I'm a fuck up," the reply was very matter-of-fact, but Tyler's eyes were flooding with tears as he spoke, and his voice sounded haggard and weak. 

"That's not true," Josh held onto his friend's hand even tighter.

"Yes, it is," Tyler nodded violently, "And everybody knows it. And I got a C. And I'm a disappointment. And I'm a fag. And I - " Tyler stopped, clamping his mouth shut. He pulled his hand away and covered his face, biting back sob after sob. His ribs hurt so much, and he was so _tired_.

"And what?" Josh's voice was so soft, so gentle, that it could've been just a whisper on the breeze coming in through the open window.

"And I killed my mom, Josh, I fucking killed her," Tyler let the tears spill over, and Josh froze in his place on the bed, staring at his friend, letting the anger and the protectiveness simmer in him, letting them mix together, letting them keep each other balanced.

"No. No. You didn't, Ty. Don't even say that, don't you ever say that." Josh reached forwards lightly as he spoke, pulling Tyler's hands away from his face, forcing them both to look at each other. The look in his Tyler's eyes was one of pure torment, one of pure suffering. Josh wondered to himself how long it had been going on, how long Tyler had really been that sad.

"I _did,_ " He insisted, his voice cracking painfully, achingly. 

"She died in a car crash," Josh put his hand underneath Tyler's chin, their faces inches apart.

"Buying clothes for _me_ , Josh. I killed her. Even my dad thinks so. I ruined everything," he cried quietly, but he didn't pull away, he continued talking, manically. "That's why you can't tell anyone, okay?"

"What?" Josh spat, sitting back on his heels, putting space between them. He was caught off guard by Tyler's words, and what he was insinuating. He looked at the boy before him and wanted to curse the world and everything it stood for on his behalf. 

"You can't tell anyone what he's doing to me because I killed his wife, you know? Obviously he's going to be mad at me, and I - I can handle it," he sounded insane, and his voice kept getting higher in pitch as he spoke - like he was going to break down again at any given moment.

"You think you deserve this," Josh muttered in shock, like he was finally putting all the puzzles pieces together, his mouth hanging open as he observed his friend, who shifted uncomfortably under his heavy gaze. They were at an impasse, and the atmosphere felt too heavy for words, for excuses. 

"Yeah," Tyler nodded to himself eventually, "I do. I do deserve it."

"Right, that's it." Josh shook his head in disbelief and lay down on the bed, on his side. "Come lie with me, Ty."

Tyler frowned, confusion muddling his brain, wondering if he really _had_ gone mad. He looked at Josh again, perplexed, and then lay down beside him, so they were facing each other. Tyler could feel Josh's warm breath on his face.

They looked right into each other's eyes, which was hard at such a close proximity. Warm honey brown met dark dead copper.

"You're staying here," Josh spoke first, shaking his head when Tyler opened his mouth immediately to protest. "It's non-negotiable, Tyler. You're not going back there. He'll kill you, one day. He'll fucking kill you, and I'm not going to let him."

Tyler stayed silent, all of his muscles tense. The world span around him. He felt like someone had taken him apart limb my limb, and then put him back together in the wrong way. 

"I'm not going to save you or anything stupid like that," Josh whispered, grabbing his friend's hand again. "But, I _am_ going to help you."

His voice was so soothing, and Tyler felt the exhaustion creeping up on him, almost claiming him but not quite. 

"You didn't kill her," Josh continued, his voice a comforting buzz. "And you're not a fuck up."

Then, the older boy with hair like the sunset leaned forward and brushed his lips against the bruised, tired boy's next to him. It was just for a moment, just for a second, it was just an almost, it was just a maybe. But it was something that made both of them feel like they were sitting on the brightest star in the galaxy, it made them feel electric, it made them feel alive.

And Tyler realized just before he drifted off, that it felt like home, and that he was _safe._

**Author's Note:**

> i worked hard on this but it's still sorta shitty but yah i wrote it bc i'm sad and angsty lmao!
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> PLEASE leave kudos and reviews if you liked, it makes my day!! thanks for reading!!


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